


in time you learn to live with it

by diana_hawthorne (dhawthorne)



Series: Private Lives [22]
Category: Law & Order, Law & Order: Criminal Intent
Genre: Extended Scene, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 07:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhawthorne/pseuds/diana_hawthorne
Summary: Mike Logan shoots a cop and looks for help from Liz Olivet.An extended scene from the episode "To The Bone." Set April 2006.





	in time you learn to live with it

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extended scene from the Law & Order Criminal Intent episode To The Bone.

Her cell phone rings just as her feverish daughter finally falls asleep; she wakes up again, looking at her reproachfully.

‘I’ll be right back, sweetie,’ she says, stepping out of her bedroom to the hallway.

‘Hello?’ she answers, pressing the phone against her ear to hear more clearly above her daughter’s protests.

‘Lizzie--’ he says. ‘Lizzie, I need your help.’

‘Are you all right?’ she asks, immediately suspecting the worst.

‘I need to talk to you. To you, please, Lizzie--Barek and I were trying to apprehend a suspect and he pulled a gun on us--’

‘Oh my God, Mike! Are you okay?’ she interrupts, but he doesn’t hear her.

‘--and so I took a shot and I shot him and he was a cop, he was undercover, Lizzie, he was--’

‘Mike. Mike!’ she interrupts. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m on my way to your apartment. Will you let me up? I need you--’

‘Of course,’ she agrees without hesitation. ‘Of course I will. When will you be here?’

‘Um, I don’t know--’ he pauses, ‘soon.’

‘Okay. Come straight up. I’ll call down and tell the doorman to send you right up.’

‘Thank you,’ he says, then hangs up the phone.

‘What’s that all about?’ her husband asks as she walks over to their apartment phone.

She ignores him, picking up the phone and calling down to the doorman on duty. ‘Yes, hi, this is Elizabeth Olivet. I’m expecting a visitor--Detective Mike Logan--and he should be here shortly. Please send him right up. Thank you.’

‘Logan is coming?’ he asks her, raising an eyebrow. ‘Is this really the best time? It’s late.’

‘He needs help,’ she says. ‘I told him he could come.’

‘And are you the only one who can help him?’ he presses, annoyed, and she looks at him, wondering once again why they are here.

‘Yes. His phone call woke Caroline up, so I’m going to put her back to bed. If he comes before I’m back, could you please bring him to my study?’ she asks, not waiting for a response before she walks back to her daughter.

‘Mommy, I thought you were never coming back,’ her daughter whines, clearly uncomfortable.

‘Oh, honey, I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well,’ she murmurs, sinking down next to her, stroking her hair. ‘But you’ve taken some medicine and that should start to help you soon.’

‘Can you sing me a song, please, Mommy?’ she begs.

She bends down and presses her lips against her daughter’s forehead. ‘Of course.’

She begins singing lullabies softly, her daughter’s favorites from infancy, stroking her hair and wishing she could take away her discomfort. Finally, finally, her breathing evens out and she falls asleep. She sits next to her for a few more moments, absorbing the peace of the scene, before she gets up, closes the door gently behind her, and walks to the living room.

‘She’s still not feeling well but she’s finally asleep,’ she says as she enters the room, stopping abruptly when she sees the men.

‘Mike got here a few minutes ago. I let him in,’ her husband says, his voice ice cold as he glares at the detective.

‘Thank you,’ she says, stepping forward, flicking her eyes to Mike. He looks awful; worse than she’s ever seen him before, and her heart squeezes tight as she begins to comprehend just how much pain he’s in.

‘I’m going to check on her, then I’ll see you in bed,’ he says, reclaiming her attention for a moment as he stands up and to give her a light, possessive kiss on the cheek.

‘Thank you,’ she says again, then looks back at Mike. He is sprawled in one of the chairs flanking the fire, looking up at her. He is tense, drawn--and she waits until Ben leaves the room before she speaks.

‘Let’s go into my study,’ she suggests, and he nods jerkily, standing up and following her down the hallway. He closes the study door behind him and watches as she sits in her armchair.

‘Do you want to sit down?’ she offers.

He shrugs and walks to the window. ‘I don’t think I can.’

‘What happened, Mike?’ she asks softly.

He leans against the window and runs a hand tiredly over his eyes. ‘This case… it’s been a mess from the start. Foster kids usin’ machetes to slaughter families to steal art… usin’ online home tours to scope out the place first, then their foster mother tellin’ them what to take… she’s a piece of work. She uses them as shields for herself, and the one I shot… the cop… he was one of “her boys” as she calls them…’ He stops, takes a deep breath, and turns to look out the window. She notes the way his shoulders tense, the pain so evident in his stance. The last time she saw him like this was after Phil was shot, and he hadn’t been that bad, even then… he was hurting so badly, and he had come to her because she could help him, because he trusted her and loved her… 

‘I didn’t know he was a cop. We told him who we were, told him to drop his weapon but… but he didn’t, he drew it and I shot… then his badge fell out and Barek told me… Jesus, Lizzie, I killed a cop!’

‘What happened next? What happened after?’ she asks, pressing him, trying to draw out the poison of this event.

‘Gave my statement, gave up my gun,’ he says mechanically. ‘Went back to the precinct, talked to Deakins. Told me I was cleared, shouldn’t take any shit from anyone about it. Barek and I went to a bar near my apartment, got some dinner, went over the case. She left, wanted to go back home… but she lives in Brooklyn, so I asked if she wanted to come home with me…’

Her heart clenches at his words, and he continues, still not looking at her.

‘...told her I’d take the couch, she told me she didn’t think I had a couch that big. I told her to forget it, and she told me she would, because I wasn’t “in my right head.” And then there was some woman at the bar, told me she loved cops and wanted to go home with me… I almost took her up on it, Lizzie, I needed someone, needed to forget… but I couldn’t, and so I called you, and I’m here, and I need you, Lizzie, I need you…’

Her heart goes out to him. If only she could take him into her arms, soothe him as she used to, take away all his hurt and show him just how much he is loved… but she can’t do that any more.

‘It’s called post-traumatic stress, Mike,’ she says, knowing that if she can’t be the woman he needs she can at least be Dr. Olivet, because he needs her too.

He recognizes her tone; she sees him set his shoulders, slipping into the roles they’ve played for years. ‘I’m so relieved it has a name,’ he quips.

‘If you’re looking for the silver lining, you called me. Ten years ago you never would’ve done that--’ --because ten years ago he’d already been on Staten Island for a year and they hadn’t spoken after he’d left, not until Claire’s death, she finishes silently. He wouldn’t have called her for anything and she wouldn’t have answered; she was still hurt, broken, from his rejection, from the way he’d revealed he cheated on her, how he’d just left…

He turns and looks at her for a moment and she feels that gulf more widely than ever.

‘It would’ve been better if he shot me.’ His statement is quiet but it carries so much conviction that her heart nearly breaks. How can he think that? If she had lost him… if their daughter had lost him… it has always been her greatest fear, that he would be shot on the job...

‘What about your colleagues?’ she asks, taking a deep breath and pushing that fear away again.

He walks towards her, sits down in the chair facing her. ‘Oh. Yeah, well, they’re all very supportive, y’know.’ He sighs, exhausted.

‘What do you want them to do--take a swing at you?’ she presses, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

He ponders her questions, rubbing his hand over his mouth as she regards him steadily.

‘Is that why you tried to provoke your partner?’

‘I killed a cop,’ he tells her bleakly.

‘Mike,’ she says urgently, needing him to understand. ‘You have to accept it’s possible to do all the right things and still get a bad result.’

‘How?’ he asks, leaning forward. ‘How d’you accept that?’

She doesn’t have an answer. At last she says, ‘with time you learn to live with it.’

‘Oh, time,’ he mocks her gently, then sighs, leaning back. He looks over to her bookshelf, the photographs of their daughter and her family--husband, niece, and daughter--and sighs again, aware that her statement carried more weight than just this situation.

‘A support system,’ she says, trying to be as gentle as she can. ‘Everybody needs one.’

Before he can say anything else--and she winces retroactively at her words, they were cruel--his phone rings and he pulls it out.

‘This time of night it can’t be good news,’ she says worriedly as he peers at the screen.

‘Logan,’ he answers gruffly, catching her eyes.

She hears the muffled voice on the other end raised in frustration, and she watches his expressive, mobile face react, contorting in anger and anguish. When he hangs up the phone he looks at her.

‘The kid we arrested was stabbed at Riker’s,’ he says. ‘Barek and I have to go over first thing.’

She leans forward and takes his hands. ‘Are you going to be all right, Mike?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admits bitterly. ‘How’m I supposed to go on without you, Lizzie? You’ve always been my support system… you’ve always been there…’

‘I’m still here for you, Mike,’ she says gently. ‘You know that.’

He looks away, brows furrowed, and says, ‘but you’re not. You haven’t been for years.’

She gets up from her seat to kneel at his feet. He looks down at her in shock, and she frees her hands from his, gripping his knees tightly.

‘Mike, look at me,’ she says urgently. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing all those years ago, when I was pregnant with Caroline. I was scared--scared that you wouldn’t want her, scared that you would leave me again if you knew, scared that I couldn’t do this on my own. I didn’t tell you because I was too scared to face the truth. I made up my mind that it was a mistake--that you sought me out that night because you needed someone to warm your bed and I was a challenge to overcome once again, that the obstacles would help you forget what happened. I misjudged you. I was wrong, and when I realized that it was too late. I wanted a baby, Mike, your baby, more than anything… and I want her to have the best life she could. I am in love with you but how could I choose you… every day I’m terrified that you’ll get shot on the job, or that something will happen… how could I expose her to that when Ben is here, quiet, competent, safe… I want her to have a good life and I would give you up--I did give you up--for that. I thought I was doing the right thing for her… but it wasn’t, Mike, it wasn’t.’

He reaches down to stroke her cheek, wiping away tears she isn’t aware she’d shed. ‘I know, Lizzie.’

She buries her face in his lap and begins to cry in earnest. ‘I’m so sorry, Mike,’ she weeps, tears suppressed for seven years spilling out now despite her best efforts. This isn’t the time or the place for a breakdown, but she can’t keep everything bottled up any longer. And maybe--just maybe her explanation will help him.

He strokes her hair. ‘You were probably right, Lizzie,’ he says softly. ‘Look at me, look at me compared to Ben--I’m a fuck-up, definitely not father material, and it’s not like I have the slightest idea of what a good upbringing looks like… you made the right choice.’

Eventually she pulls back and looks up at him. ‘I wish I could be so sure. How did we get here, Mike?’

He draws her up and pulls her onto his lap. She rests her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes.

‘Don’t you think I ask myself that every day, Lizzie?’ he murmurs. ‘Don’t you think that I regret that night more than anything else?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispers. ‘God, Mike, I’m so sorry.’

‘Me too,’ he replies, kissing her forehead. ‘I’m so tired of living without you.’

She nods against his shoulder, squeezing her eyes tight in an attempt to believe that this is her life and not relegated to the land of might-have-been.

His phone rings again and he shifts her gently to pull his phone out of his pocket once more.

‘Logan,’ he answers. Pressed so close to him she can hear snippets of the conversation and she gathers that he is needed somewhere right away. He agrees, sighs, and snaps his phone closed.

‘I’ve gotta go,’ he says, looking at her. ‘Apparently “first thing in the morning” actually means half an hour ago.’

‘Will you--will you call me if you need to talk?’ she asks tentatively, aware that this is now the only way she can help him.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, kissing her on the forehead. ‘I know that you’re in my corner, Lizzie, even after everything.’

‘Always,’ she says, tilting her head back to look into his eyes. ‘I mean it, Mike.’

He bends down and touches his lips to hers lightly, clumsily, and their cheekbones bang against each other, transferring a tear from her cheek to his.

‘I know.’

She stands up at last, drawing him into a desperate embrace, clinging to him as though she could never let him go. His phone ringing again breaks them apart at last.

‘I’m comin’, Barek,’ he snaps, then hangs up and looks at her. ‘I’ve gotta go.’

‘Be well, Mike,’ she whispers.

He quirks a sad grin at her. ‘You too, Lizzie. I’ll find my way out.’

She stands in her study silently after he leaves, hugging her arms around her waist.

It seems like years later when her husband comes into the study.

‘Elizabeth?’ he asks, concerned, and it takes a real effort to focus on him. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I need to take a break,’ she says as though in a trance. ‘I need to go away for a little bit.’

He furrows his brow in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I need to take some time off, Ben. I need to wrap my head around a few things.’

He steps closer. ‘Are you sick, Elizabeth? Do you have Caroline’s fever?’

‘No!’ she snaps, annoyed he is discounting her statement. ‘I’m fine, Ben. I just need to take some time.’

‘What about Caroline?’ he asks.

‘I’ll take her with me.’

‘She’s sick,’ he protests. ‘Elizabeth, what’s gotten into you?’

‘We’ll go next week--she’ll be better by then.’

He grips her shoulders. ‘Liz, look at me.’

She looks into his eyes and sees the confusion there.

‘What’s going on? Are you leaving me?’

She looks away again. ‘I don’t know. We’ll be gone for a week.’

‘Elizabeth, talk to me,’ he begs, shaking her gently now, growing increasingly more desperate. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ she says. ‘Ben, I just need some time…’

‘All right,’ he says finally. ‘What can I do?’

‘Just… give me some time.’

He reaches up to stroke her cheek; she shies away involuntarily and she sees the hurt in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Ben,’ she says. ‘I just need some space.’

‘Okay,’ he agrees at last. She nods and goes back into their bedroom, changing into her pyjamas. Her husband comes in behind her.

‘I’m going to sleep with Caroline,’ she says. ‘Good night.’


End file.
